Miranda Cook first up…
“Having suffered the worst night out in living memory at Matter in London a couple of weeks ago (don’t ask), I got thinking about other shockers – like the time I drove all the way to Scotland just to visit a techno club in Paisley. It was the middle of nowhere (literally it was the only building still standing on a wasteland, the middle of winter and absolutely freezing. Luckily the promoters had provided a Calor gas heater for the ravers to get warmed up around. The club took place in a musty basement underneath an Indian restaurant and the waiters were all serving behind the bar. Amazing. Then there’s the Hastings Pier where last time I went to a do there, they were selling pickled eggs behind the bar. An honourable mention has to go to Crazy Daisy’s though, clubbing in a roadside caff off the A45 near Coventry (wait, it does get worse). Not only was it shocking of carpet and mangled of clientele, I was unlucky enough to attend on the night when a rather refreshed lad in a shiny shirt got a bit over excited and decided to do the five finger shuffle in the middle of the dancefloor.”
Dan Prince tries to follow that tale of woe…
Drove Sasha down to a club in Plymouth once. On the way back his then girlfriend and himself had an argument in the back of the car and she poured a full can of Coca-Cola over his head – very very funny. Went to ‘We Love’ and ex promoter Darren Hughes’s house once for a party, he would not dish out new beer if there was a millimeter of stale beer left in your bottle. No wonder he’s loaded. Up top Miranda mentions The Hastings Pier, which is where of course John Digweed put on his ‘Bedrock’ parties. Well yes, I went there a few times. The last time when I decided nah, this isn’t for me and decided to take a breath of fresh air outside – the DJs were shit. So out on the prom I then witnessed two guys carefully picking up a deckchair which a guy who was passed out in, completely out of it, and they threw him over the pier and into the sea. Finding a bag of 100 E’s on the steps of a very famous London nightclub that rhymes with car lumba – result. Well it paid for a nice new suit from Gucci. Getting banned from The Leicester Holiday Inn for wrecking a room. Oh hotel stories, walking down to reception completely naked at a Chuff Chuff party locked out of my room, my mate Gez pissing into a vase in Amsterdam and another other pal Sefton shitting in a lift. And as for the Hyatt in Birminham with Jay K – well, you wouldn’t let Guinea Pigs stay in the room after the after party we had there. The co-partner of one of the club’s I used to own – ‘Sundissential’ Madders, who agreed to give his bed away on one of our Bank Holiday parties in front of 2000 nutbags – I helped carry the bed down his flat stairs and as we moved the bed, about 30 girls knickers fell from the sheets – prostitutes lived in the flats above and below him and I f*cked off to the shop for some bleach. See ya…